


Heart-Shaped Box

by dev0n



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Honestly this should've been a ship a long time ago, M/M, Murder House AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev0n/pseuds/dev0n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dandy has been trapped in the murder house for a very long time, and develops an infatuation with one of its latest occupants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been roleplaying this practically since season 4 started. this probably isn't my best writing, but w/e. don't expect consistent updating.
> 
>  **edit 8/19/16:** changed the first chapter to present tense to match the other chapters, cleaned it up a bit. i really need to start proofreading.

"Smoking is a terrible habit." The comment comes unexpected, and Tate makes a quick attempt to hide his cigarette, turning around. The man standing behind him is unfamiliar. He has dark hair styled into bizarre, childish swirls in the front, and looks quite like an overgrown child. He gives Tate a smile. "This is a beautiful home," the man adds, looking out across the yard. "I used to live here, you know."

"Who the fuck are you?" Tate asks upon finding his words. "And what are you doing on my porch? You scared the shit out of me."

"You have a very foul mouth." The man looks offended for half a second, but then his smile returns. "My name is Dandy." Tate barely holds back a laugh, because God, that is an unfortunate name. "We're neighbors. I just thought I would come over and introduce myself."

Dandy holds out his hand, looking expectant. Tate reluctantly shakes it. It makes him feel old. "I'm Tate. Don't tell my mom about the cigarette, okay? She'll flip her shit."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dandy replies neatly. He slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, which, Tate notes, are pulled up far too high.

But Tate decides not to insult his new neighbor's fashion sense just yet, and thus doesn't comment on Dandy's strange appearance. Instead, he asks, "How old are you?"

That seems to catch Dandy off guard, for whatever reason. How old is he supposed to be by now, Dandy wonders? But that isn't what Tate is asking. A second delayed, Dandy gives him the age he'd been at his death. "Nineteen."

"Hm." Tate takes a drag from his cigarette. If he notices the delay, he doesn't say anything. "I'm sixteen." He pauses, then decides asking can't hurt. This guy doesn't look the type, but─- "Do you like Nirvana?"

"Pardon?" Dandy looks genuinely confused, and Tate rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, dude, do you live under a rock?" _Technically, yes._ "They're a band. They're fucking awesome." Tate has trouble making friends, but maybe there's potential here. Even if the guy is a little (a lot) dorky. Tate doesn't exactly have a lot of options. "D'you want to come inside? I have all their tapes."

Is he referring to the rock'n'roll Dandy has been hearing every damned night? Dandy's never been fond of it, and this much harsher-sounding new music is even worse. Still, having an excuse to be inside the house is a good thing. Maybe he could even befriend Tate; then he won't have to hide in his own home all the time. "Oh. Yes, I... I think I've heard of them. Certainly." He smiles again, and Tate puts out his cigarette, tucking the butt into his pocket. He'll put it in the ash tray with his mother's cigarette butts later.

"Cool."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you're 19," Tate begins, popping his _Nevermind_ tape into the cheap cassette player on his dresser. Dandy is perched somewhat stiffly at the foot of his bed.

 _No, I'm 61._ Dandy did the math on the way up here. "Yes." He looks around his room (for, in Dandy's eyes, it never really stopped being his room) with barely-concealed distaste. All the redecorating that's been done since he and his mother died 42 years ago has done nothing but ruin the once-beautiful house. And these posters of men with overgrown hair and women with far too little clothing─- it's poor decorating, to say the least. But Tate thinks this is his room, and Dandy isn't going to say anything about the state of it just yet.

"Did you go to Westfield?" Tate is much more comfortable in the room than Dandy is, and sits with his back against the bed's headboard, legs crossed.

"No." Westfield hadn't even existed when Dandy was alive. "I had a private tutor." That much is true. His mother hadn't trusted public schools, and she certainly didn't trust him to be off on his own at a boarding school.

Tate sighs wistfully, plucking at a loose thread in his jeans. There are lots of holes in them, but it appears to be fashionable, judging by the posters on the walls. Not for the first time, Dandy laments the changes in society over the past "I fucking hate it." Dandy waits, but Tate doesn't elaborate. Instead, the blond asks, "Where do you live, anyway?"

 _I don't._ Dandy hesitates. "Around the block." The tape is playing obnoxious rock music. It's quiet, but it's still irritating. Dandy is dismayed to find that he can't even understand what the 'singer' is saying. Still, he bites his tongue. This is the first time in a long time he might actually make a friend, and he's not going to ruin it by complaining about Tate's choice in music.

There is a long, awkward silence. Tate begins to question his decision to invite Dandy inside. But then he hears the door open and close downstairs, and his mother's voice calling his name. He jolts upright. "Shit, my mom. You should probably go, now. Out the back door. You know where it is?"

"Yes." Dandy will simply will himself out of sight once he's out of Tate's room, of course. He gets to his feet, and extends a hand toward Tate. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps I'll come by again sometime."

Tate shakes his hand, although the gesture seems unusual. Everything about Dandy is unusual, and Tate isn't exactly normal, himself. "Yeah, man. I'll see you around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. This part isn't too great. I'll time skip from here, probably.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Letting yourself into other peoples' houses is generally considered breaking and entering. Even if you used to live there."
> 
> "You don't seem too upset."
> 
> "Yeah. I guess I'm just desperate enough for friends that I'll let a potential serial killer in my room instead of calling the cops."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't think i'd ever update this, but here we are. this is far from my best work lmao but whatever. merry christmas?

Dandy doesn't come around again for several days, and Tate begins to wonder if he somehow imagined the whole thing.

In truth, Dandy has hardly left Tate's side since they met. He watches Tate in complete silence. He watches him do his homework, watches him lay in bed and listen to music, watches him sneak cigarettes late at night with the window cracked open. Dandy ignores Moira when she tells him he's being creepy.

Dandy discovers all of the Langdons' secrets. It's not difficult. He met Moira shortly after her death, Hugo shortly after his. He knows of Beauregard's existence, and even plays with him in the attic sometimes. He is careful around Adelaide; she is a strangely perceptive little girl, and sometimes Dandy thinks she can see the house's inhabitants whether they want to be seen or not. He finds Tate's porn stash under the loose floorboard under his bed, and is surprised to find an issue or two of Men mixed in with the worn Playboys and Penthouses.

Dandy finally goes to Tate again almost a full week later, shortly after Constance and Larry leave the house together, Constance nagging Larry as usual. He raps on Tate's bedroom door once, then lets himself in.

Tate jolts into a sitting position on his bed, fairly certain he just suffered a minor heart attack. He'd thought he was alone. "Jesus Christ! Dude, who let you in?"

Dandy tilts his head, hands shoved into his pockets. "I let myself in. I used to live here, you know."

That is some creepy stalker shit, and Tate should probably be freaked out right about now. He takes in Dandy's casual expression, the old-fashioned and childish-looking clothing he's wearing (but at least Dandy seems to have forgone the weird-ass curls in his hair today). If Tate were smart, he'd kick Dandy out. Maybe call the cops.

But beggars can't be choosers, and he would be lying if he says he hasn't been thinking about Dandy quite a bit over the past few days. Dandy is strange, but he'd been nice enough; he hadn't treated Tate like the total loser he feels like in school. Shit, Tate is weird, too. Maybe Dandy is a different brand of weird, but that doesn't mean they can't be friends.

"Letting yourself into other peoples' houses is generally considered breaking and entering. Even if you used to live there," Tate replies dryly. Even so, he gestures for Dandy to come in, and he does, shutting the door behind him.

"You don't seem too upset," Dandy points out. Tate laughs.

"Yeah. I guess I'm just desperate enough for friends that I'll let a potential serial killer in my room instead of calling the cops," he snorts.

Dandy's expression changes into something unreadable, and he shrugs again. "If I were, I wouldn't kill you," he replies, and he finds himself surprised at how sincere he is.

"Thank you, that really makes me feel so much better about the you-not-being-a-serial-killer thing." Tate scoots over to the window and cracks it open, feeling around under his pillow for his pack of cigarettes. Almost empty. He'll need more soon.

Dandy is silent as he watches Tate light the cigarette, then clears his throat and asks, "So... How's school?"

That makes Tate laugh again. "Shitty as ever, man. You'd get it if you went to public school."

"Tell me about it," Dandy presses. He's legitimately curious. He's never known much about the world outside this house, not even when he was alive.

Tate takes in Dandy's earnest expression for a few seconds, then looks back out the window. "Well, first of all, there's this guy..."

\---

Somehow, after that, the conversation flows freely. Dandy asks more questions than he answers, and Tate realizes later that he hardly learned anything about Dandy at all. Still, Tate feels like they're starting to form a friendship.

Dandy stays for a couple of hours. When they hear Constance and Larry pull into the driveway again, though, they both know that it's for the best if Dandy leaves. Tate has no idea what his mom will think about Dandy, and he's not eager to find out just yet. Dandy feels similarly.

Tate sighs as he watches Dandy get to his feet. "Come by again soon, yeah? I mean, if you're not busy." He pauses. "But next time use the doorbell like a normal human being, man."

Dandy smiles brightly. "Alright. I'll see you soon," he promises. And then he's gone; Tate waits until he hears the back door close before letting out a quiet, "Shit, dude."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look, i updated! it only took... approximately eight months. i didn't really proofread and this chapter probably sucks but?? i felt bad leaving it where i did, so.
> 
> warning for penises & dandy being gross and creepy.

After the first few times, Tate doesn't bother telling Dandy to use the front door. He only hopes his mother never finds Dandy letting himself in.

He still doesn't even know much about Dandy, but somehow they've become close. Best friends, even, and isn't that a thought? Tate doesn't think he's ever had a best friend.

Dandy is weird, Tate's known that from the beginning. From what Tate can understand, his mother is overprotective and trapped in the 50's. Dandy doesn't understandy any of Tate's pop culture references, has never heard Nirvana or Nine Inch Nails or Stone Temple Pilots. He's never seen The Breakfast Club or Pretty in Pink or even Scooby Doo. So Tate takes it upon himself to educate the strange older boy in what's happened between the 1950's and today.

Dandy enjoys the lessons, for the most part. He decides he likes The Smiths and The Cure, but anything too 'heavy' (like Stone Temple Pilots, or Red Hot Chili Peppers) is banned from playing when he's around.

Or when Tate knows he's around, in any case. Dandy still watches him when he can't be seen, sometimes.

One such time, Tate is alone in the house and listening to music. Dandy is just about to leave the room and knock on the door when Tate starts to unzip his pants. He watches in silent fascination up until Tate actually takes his cock out of his underwear, then realizes what he's doing and leaves quickly.

Dandy doesn't touch himself often, but he does that night. Tate's name spills unbidden from his lips as he cums.

Dandy has always thought himself above attraction, is the thing. But he's fascinated by Tate; Moira even goes so far as to call it obsession. Insinuates he's fostering a homosexual attraction to the living boy. Alone in the living room, catching his breath while cum dries on his hand and the image of Tate's cock still vivid in his mind, well.

Dandy can sort of see her point.


End file.
